


The Steadfast Soldier

by danielosbourne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Becca Barnes - Freeform, Brooklyn, Christmas, Divorce, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, M/M, New Year's Eve, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Uncle Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, single dad Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danielosbourne/pseuds/danielosbourne
Summary: Bucky returns home to Brooklyn to help his sister navigate a family crisis.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 34
Kudos: 318





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s just like high school,” explains Becca, “except _extra_ pathetic, because we’re supposed to outgrow cliques. That—” she says, pointing to the emptiest table in farthest corner of the cafeteria, “—is the sad-sack divorcee table. C’mon.”

With no experience navigating the social hierarchy of elementary school PTA meetings, Bucky has no choice but take Becca at her word, though lately she’s prone to a bit more self-pity than usual. Personally, he’s relieved to be far from the dense crowd at the front of the room.

“That guy’s a sad-sack divorcee?” Bucky can’t help but notice that the only other occupant of the table they’re heading toward is the most beautifully built man Bucky has seen since Hollywood, let alone in this room.

“Steve? Sure. He’s basically our ringleader. I’ll introduce you.”

Being introduced to Becca’s mom-friends had been a source of great anxiety in agreeing to tag-along to school functions like this. Bucky wasn’t used to being around, well, people who had their shit together enough to reproduce responsibly. And he certainly wasn’t _one_ of them. By all accounts, he was a top-notch Fun Uncle but feared such a quality might be perceived as “overgrown-man-child” in an auditorium full of helicopter parents. He didn’t know PTA attendees could look like Steve. Becca sits herself down next to him.

“Hey,” says Steve genially, looking curiously at Bucky sliding in behind her.

“My brother,” is all Becca offers, but Steve reaches out his hand to shake, and the odd angle meaning Bucky has to meet it with his prosthetic.

“Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you.”

“Steve Rogers.”

Bucky sees the brief downward glance when Steve realizes the hand he’s shaking isn’t real, “Did you serve?”

Bucky’s not expecting question, but he probably should be. Stark prosthetics aren’t exactly available to civilians, though few recognize it as such.

“Uh, yeah. Army.”

Steve nods sympathetically, and Bucky recognizes the familiar hint of weariness in the man. Steve’s a sad-sack _veteran_. Maybe Bucky belongs at this table after all. Becca gives him a knowing side-eye.

“He’s staying with me and the kids,” explains Becca turning back to Steve, “While everything’s—you know,” meaning the divorce. But Bucky supposes Steve does know.

“That’s great,” says Steve, smiling kindly at the both of them.

A few others arrive at the table, all looking various shades of exhausted. Introductions are made, but there’s a lot less chit-chat than there appears to be everywhere else in the room. They wait in relieved silence for the meeting to begin.

This is only Bucky’s third week back in Brooklyn, and he’s still pretty out of the loop on his nieces’ schooling. Most of the meeting goes right over his head anyway, so he steals glances at Steve instead. Dude must have been Special Ops, built like that. Bucky doesn’t want to ask though. Too many years in group therapy—talking about his or anyone else’s time in the service just feels like work. He’s done the work. He’s down to one 50-minute Skype appointment a week with his therapist in L.A., and he’s got enough emotional bandwidth leftover to do shit like support his sister through a contested divorce. He won’t dredge up trauma just to forge a bond with a guy who wears khakis to PTA meetings. But he can _look_.

Bucky gets an elbow in the ribs from Becca right around the time “Holiday Pageant” gets mentioned by whoever is at the podium. _See the music teacher, Ms. Carrigan_ —waving dutifully from the front— _for volunteer opportunities_. Bucky can’t imagine what he has to offer this hotly anticipated P.S. 45 production, but apparently it’s a big deal to the girls, and Becca had asked for the favor. The whole point of dragging himself across the country to sleep on his sister’s sleeper sofa was to make her life a little easier anyway he could. Sometimes he wished that meant kicking his lying, cheating, former brother-in-law’s ass in a dark alley somewhere, but hanging stage-lights in a grade-school auditorium was doable if it helped Becca out.

Bucky makes his way to Ms. Carrigan once the speakers conclude, and is surprised to see Steve jotting his name at the top of the volunteer contact sheet. Steve looks equally surprised when Bucky does the same.

“Holiday Pageant, huh? You’re jumping in the deep end.”

“Am I? Becca thought I could be useful.” What Bucky doesn’t say is, _Because I have experience_. Coordinating stunts for big budget action movies really has fuck-all to do with children’s theater, despite Becca's assumption. Bucky thought he could help with the heavy lifting or something, but maybe Steve’s got that covered.

“Absolutely. We need the help. Just be warned we take our school productions pretty seriously around here.”

Becca had warned him, and Katie--his oldest niece--hadn’t shut-up about how the third grade was going to dress up like gingerbread cookies this year. Bucky nods, extra serious.

“So, you’re planning on sticking around for a while?” asks Steve.

“Oh, I guess,” shrugs Bucky, wincing internally at how little he’d really planned out this Uncle Bucky-to-the-rescue routine, “Don’t have a return flight booked.” The custody hearing is the week after Thanksgiving, but Becca has all four girls full time until then. Who knows what the fall-out will be, so Bucky figured he’ll be around at least through the end of the year.

“Wow. That’s incredible you’d do that for your sister,” says Steve earnestly. Predictably, praise from a hot guy makes Bucky blush, although the truth is it doesn’t feel like much of a sacrifice. Bucky had woken up at Walter Reed after a medevac from Iraq missing an arm and several weeks of recent memories. Becca was at his bedside with a baby on each hip, prepared to move into the nearest motel until discharge.

“Barneses show up for each other,” is all Bucky can say. It’s taken him the better part of a decade to be in a position to return the favor. Steve beams.

“Seems like it’s been hard lately. I’m glad she’s got family in her corner. Where are you in from?”

“I’ve been in L.A. a few years now. But I grew up just a few blocks away from here.” God forbid anyone think he’s _from_ L.A.

“Welcome home! I'm a Brooklyn native myself,” says Steve, bringing his hand to Bucky's (flesh) shoulder. And shit, if that one touch doesn’t steer this small talk dangerously close to flirting territory. Bucky’s good at flirting under normal circumstances. But he’s on the wrong coast, and he’s in a school cafeteria possibly having just signed up to sew child-size gingerbread costumes, talking to a beautiful _dad_ who approximately three minutes ago Bucky would have put money on being straight. And Becca, who’s got some kind of internal sensor for when Bucky gets too close to a good time, is glaring daggers over Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s good to be home,” says Bucky, aiming for an out that’s definitively not a brushoff, “Hopefully we’ll see each other around. Pageant prepping and all.”

“Definitely. We should get an e-mail in a few days with the details. See you around, Bucky.”

*******

“Jesus Christ,” hisses Becca once they’re outside, walking home.

“What?”

“You can’t keep it in your pants for a single fucking PTA meeting?”

“What the fuck, Becca? I was doing what you asked! You told me to volunteer for the holiday thing!”

“Yeah, but not to flirt with the dads!”

“I wasn’t! I came, I volunteered. Steve was flirting with _me_.”

Steve is new, the argument is old. Bucky demonstrates basic social niceties (a skill Becca never quite mastered) and gets accused of flirting, as if he can _help_ being desired on occasion. For a brief, self-destructive period on his very non-linear journey with PTSD, Bucky may have taken advantage and charmed his way into a few too many stranger’s beds. Ultimately unsatisfied and a little embarrassed, he moved on to healthier coping strategies. But not without permanently grossing out his sister.

“Steve doesn’t flirt with _anyone_ ,” says Becca accusingly.

“He was being nice, that’s all.”

"Yeah, Steve _is_ nice. He’s one of the few people at that school that doesn’t treat me like a total pariah for allowing my family fall apart!”

“Becca—,” starts Bucky, panicked at the unexpected tears in his sister’s eyes.

“No, shut up. You don’t know what it’s like. I don’t have any regrets, but it’s _so_ hard. My entire life changed, and most of the people I thought were my friends have completely disappeared. I’m thankful you’re here Bucky, but I’m also thankful for Steve. He doesn’t make me feel bad about myself and is proof a person can survive this shit. Please don’t make things weird.”

“It wasn’t anything, I swear.” It _wasn’t_. Flirting was just the kind of wishful interpretation that was inevitable talking to a man who looked the way Steve did. A little ribbing was Bucky’s brotherly birthright, but hurting Becca right now was unthinkable. “I’m glad you have a friend. He seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” says Becca, settling.

They pick up Chinese on the way home, and the girls circle like vultures as soon as they’re in the door. Rikki, Bucky and Becca’s youngest sister by nearly a decade, had generously offered to babysit in exchange for some chicken siu mai. Although Bucky’s pretty sure Rikki’s got at least six roommates at her place in Boerum Hill, so maybe this is just the kind of chaos she’s accustomed to.

Bucky lives alone in L.A. Put a down payment on a condo in Silver Lake after his first superhero movie paycheck cleared. He's taught himself to cook a few grown-up meals, and talk about his arm without bumming people out. He goes on dates with men whose last names he makes an effort to learn, and has carved out a respectable, exhilarating career that manages to pay the bills. He’d lived through significant trauma, and built a good life for himself on the other side. He’s proud of that life.

But here in Becca’s cramped kitchen, arguing with a 4-year-old over who gets the last egg roll, surrounded by women he would willingly give up his remaining arm for, he’s more at peace with himself than he's been in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of an experiment in posting a work here (my first, *eek*) and edits are pretty much guaranteed. Have over half-written so far (through chapter 5) but this is very much a WIP.
> 
> *Has absolutely nothing to do with the fairy tale of the same name.*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks, and approximately 200 group e-mails later, Bucky’s back at school to receive his pageant marching orders.

Two weeks, and approximately 200 group e-mails later, Bucky’s back at school to receive his pageant marching orders. The scale of the production is daunting, but parents of Christmas past have generously handed down a how-to binder for newbie volunteers which allows for a fairly efficient division of labor. Bucky’s worked with Hollywood studios who could stand to take notes from these folks. To his delight Steve calls dibs on painting the stage backdrops, which is a) adorable and b) means otherwise skill-less heavy lifting is still in demand.

First order of business is hauling up last year’s props from the basement, with Steve kindly offering to show the way. The man's in khakis _again_ , so Bucky doesn’t think keeping his promise not to flirt is going to be a huge challenge. On the other hand, the non-denominational holiday gods have stuck the two of them alone in a basement with plenty of opportunities to flex at each other, so Bucky keeps his guard up just in case.

“How’s Becca?” asks Steve.

“Busy. It’s flu season, and I guess a lot of the nursing staff are out sick. She’s been working doubles. Plus, mediation with Rob and stuff,” Bucky finishes awkwardly, unsure of how much Steve knows and what’s okay to share.

“Well, I hope she gets a break soon. Do you watch the girls while she works?”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughs, “I’m not sure ‘watching’ really covers it. More like I hang on for dear life and hope no one requires stitches. My sister Rikki helps out too.”

“Big family,” Steve says it like a complement. “It’s nice you all are close.”

“You have any family nearby?”

“Not really. Only child, my parents have passed. Edie’s mom lives in Manhattan, but that’s about it. Always liked the idea of lots of brothers and sisters, though.”

And Bucky is sort of tempted to tell him that up until 15, he would have traded in all three of his sisters for the chance to adopt a Labrador puppy, but Steve seems genuinely wistful, and Bucky can’t pretend not to be grateful for them now.

After hauling a few loads back to the cafeteria for the others to sort through they can finally reach last year’s rolled up canvas backdrops, and Steve is _giddy_. He really is free to take them and go, but asks Bucky if he wants to check them out first. Bucky agrees so as not to be rude, but frankly, Steve's enthusiasm is a little weird. The two of them clear a space on the wall to unroll the first one: a snowy woodland wonderland with excruciatingly detailed icicles on branches and trails of footprints in the snow. It’s ridiculously professional.

“Holy shit, you can’t paint over this!”

“Why not?” asks Steve.

“It’s art!”

“You think so?” Steve asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes!” What the hell is wrong with this guy? Why so eager to spend his free time re-doing work that’s already been done and done _well_. Don’t these people know it’s perfectly acceptable to march some kindergartners across a stage lined with butcher paper and call it a night?

“Well, thanks, I guess,” shrugs Steve, “I wasn’t planning on painting over the whole thing, just adding a pond. Frozen, like an ice rink.”

“Hold on, did _you_ paint that?” Bucky waves at the canvas.

Steve nods, having the nerve to blush as Bucky realizes this little show and tell session is really just a clumsy humblebrag.

“Few years ago, when Edie was in kinder. I like being able to spruce it up though.”

“This looks _professional_. Are you an artist?”

Steve snorts, “Professionally, no. Thought about it. Went to art school, once upon a time.”

“Seriously? What happened?”

“Joined the Army.”

And fuck, now Bucky is curious in a way he’s not sure can be satisfied with idle chit-chat. He wants to know more about this guy who is kind to his sister, paints masterpieces as an extracurricular activity, and maybe understands a fraction of the violence in Bucky’s past through his own career choices.

He also wants to not piss Becca off. But making a _friend_ wouldn’t make things weird for his sister. Bucky tries to remember the last time he made a new friend. It’s stupid that starting meaningful friendships in adulthood is hard. Steve seems like he’d be a good friend. A buddy. They could watch Mets games together. Isn’t baseball supposed to be the ultimate boner killer?

“So, I wanted to ask—” starts Steve, oblivious to Bucky’s inner dialogue, “Edie stays with her mom every other weekend, and that’s this weekend. I don’t know if Becca needs you, but if you have some free time, I wanted to see if maybe you’d like to…” And Bucky knows by Steve’s deepening blush that whatever comes next isn’t: _catch a Mets game, no homo_ “I thought maybe we could go out. To dinner. Or something.”

Bucky replays the entirety of their brief interactions in his head, desperate to know the moment he fucked up and projected how bad he wants to see this guy naked. Becca’s gonna kill him.

“Um,” he manages.

“You can say no,” blurts Steve, breaking eye contact. The man does a spot-on impression of a kicked puppy--seriously, he could be cast in one of those ASPCA commercials. Fuck his best intentions, Bucky feels like a monster.

“It’s just. I think Becca does need me. This weekend,” which might be the truth, Bucky doesn’t bother to ask her too far ahead of time because he never actually has any plans of his own.

“That’s okay. It was just an idea,” Steve shrugs, looking anywhere but at Bucky, “Sorry if I, you know, am barking up the wrong tree.”

A hysterical laugh nearly escapes before Bucky can tamp it down. He’s tempted to lie about his sexuality for the first time since middle school if it would do any amount of damage control, but knows there’s no unburning that bridge.

“That’s not it at all. Just—Becca needs a lot of help right now. I’m still getting my bearings here, and…” There’s nothing else he can think to say that isn’t an outright lie. He likes Steve. He wants Steve. Wants to go on a date with him. But his sister is in pain and he didn’t come here to add to it. He’s gotta get out of this fucking florescent lit basement.

*******

“Becks, I gotta tell you something.”

It’s too late at night for this conversation, but the girls needed feeding and then bathing, and getting everyone in bed takes at least seven rounds of ‘I’m thirsty’ and ‘where’s lambie’ and ‘one more kiss.’

“Yeah?” Becca’s curled up with a glass of wine on what’s known as the ‘laundry chair,’ but Bucky had undertaken the herculean task of clearing it before she got off work.

“Steve asked me out.”

Becca’s eyes narrow immediately, “What did you tell him?”

“No.”

Becca sighs, not looking particularly relieved, “Bucky—”

“I wasn’t encouraging him, I swear. We were working in the basement and he caught me off guard. But I told him no.”

“It’s gonna be weird now isn’t it?” she groans.

“Not for you!” he insists.

“Do you like him?”

The question catches Bucky off guard, “Yeah. He’s nice, he’s—”

“Built like a brick shithouse?” interrupts Becca.

“Do _you_ like him?” Bucky wonders out loud. Fuck, maybe this is like Matthew Prejean in 11th grade all over again.

Becca shakes her head, “Not like that. Don’t get me wrong, I _look_ ,” she smirks, “But he’s just a friend. He keeps the assholes at bay. He’s empathetic. That’s hard to come by these days, besides _you_.”

“I’m sorry Becks.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. You’re 35-years-old, I’m not gonna tell you who do date. And I meant it when I said Steve doesn’t flirt. You have no idea the lengths some of those PTA moms have gone to. He must really like you.”

Bucky’s so relieved Becca’s not upset with him that he’s going to temporarily shelve his own annoyance that her 180 already cost him the date.

“Can I ask you something else?”

Bucky nods.

“When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

Ugh. This is the kind of shit that makes Bucky think that Labrador trade might have actually been worth it.

“What are you getting at?” Bucky asks warily, knowing his sister probably has a very specific definition of _relationship_ in mind.

“I mean, when was the last time you had a _boyfriend_ and didn’t just bone and ghost some CW star?”

“Is that your business?” Bucky might as well default to bratty, because the answer is embarrassing—which Becca surely _knows_ , which is why she asked.

“Fuck you, _yes_ it’s my business. You cannot bone and ghost Steve. Steve has a kid. Steve is my friend. He is too good for that and so are you.”

“I think the Steve ship has sailed, Becca. I already turned him down.”

“You have a lot to offer, is all I’m saying. More than I think you realize. I know I seem like a giant cautionary tale right now, but sometimes letting your guard down _is_ worth it.”

“Yeah? _Rob_ was worth it?”

The corner of her mouth quirks into a small, sad smile. It’s the sort of expression that highlights the family resemblance to a freaky degree.

“For my girls, hell yeah.”

At that, Bucky smiles too.

There’s a version of himself he barely remembers who had wanted what Becca alludes to. Thought he might have a whole bunch of kids like his own parents had, and someday celebrate his 50th wedding anniversary on a Mediterranean cruise surrounded by fat grandchildren. He’s not sure if it’s a dream he simply grew out of, or if it died in a sniper’s nest somewhere in Al-Qa’im. He remembers another version of himself who had wanted nothing at all for fear of all the ways he was sure to destroy it. More recently he’s been focused on practicing gratitude for what he already has _while_ he has it. Taking whatever good comes his way, even if it means letting something better slip away. But maybe— _maybe_ —he’s rebuilt himself strong enough push the boat out a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own.


	3. Chapter 3

Back in L.A., Bucky had missed the cold. _Nostalgia is fucking toxic_ , he thinks, as he leaves Becca’s building and the November chill grates against the exposed skin of his face. He dreads needing to trade in his leather jacket for one of those goofy, Jet-Puffed marshmallow ones the girls wear, but he might have finally reached the age of conceding looking cool to staying warm.

With Thanksgiving fast approaching, Becca’s looming custody hearing, and a slew of missed calls from his agent, Bucky’s been fully distracted of late, but the short walk to school is just enough time to work himself into a low-key panic over seeing Steve again.

Bucky’s never been the type to not have regrets. If you do something stupid, you regret it. Otherwise _you’re_ stupid. But years of intensive therapy keep him from dwelling too heavily on past mistakes. Instead he’s developed a tendency to acknowledge the damage done, get out of fucking dodge, and move on entirely to whatever allows for a symbolic re-do. His experience in properly salvaging a fuck-up is limited. He’s not confident he can reignite whatever initial spark there was between him and Steve—but the idea of blowing it off entirely feels less like moving on and more like fucking-up twice.

Bucky is five minutes early to the auditorium, but still the last one to arrive. As always, some of the volunteers’ kids have tagged along and one particularly bright child is selling hot cocoa out of a carafe for a dollar a cup. Bucky’s a happy customer.

Steve waves from where he’s unfolding bleachers on stage. He no longer looks like a kicked puppy, but Bucky senses the wave is more polite than friendly. Bucky sticks to the other side of the room for a while and lets the kids whisper excitedly about his metal hand as he untangles string lights.

Eventually Bucky’s recruited to shuffle some tables around and senses an opportunity.

“Hey, Steve. You mind giving me a hand?”

Steve looks surprised but doesn’t hesitate to join him. The reticence in his expression is new.

Little needs to be said in order to move the tables from point A to point B, but the silence quickly becomes uncomfortable. This is hardly the venue to let bedroom eyes and lingering touches do the talking, even if small talk feels like a step backwards.

“Any plans for Thanksgiving?” Bucky asks too cheerfully.

“I’m not much of a cook,” Steve shrugs, “We’re heading down to D.C. to my friend Sam’s house.”

“That’s nice,” replies Bucky, plowing on when there’s no follow-up, “Becks and I thought about driving the kids to Indiana to see my parents, but there’s just too much going on this year. We’ve got a Butterball in the freezer at home though, so I got about a week to figure out what to do with it. Apparently, there’s a hotline you can call?”

That elicits something close to a smile from Steve, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Bucky wants to reach out and flatten the little crease between Steve’s brows with his thumb.

“I’m sorry about last time,” says Bucky, a little too quiet.

Steve tenses ever so slightly.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Buck.”

“Yeah, except—” Bucky searches for a way to explain himself in a way that doesn’t throw Becca under the bus “—since I’ve been here, I haven’t had a lot of time outside of helping with the girls to focus on a social life. You surprised me a little. I didn’t mean for you to think I wasn’t… interested.”

Steve frowns, the little crease between his brow deepening.

“You didn’t?” he asks, not hiding his incredulity.

“I mean, I can see how you may have gotten that impression,” says Bucky, apologetic, “But with a little planning, it’s not impossible for me to take a night off. If you ever—you know—if you still wanted to go out? Sometime.”

Bucky forces himself to hold Steve’s assessing gaze, intense as it is.

“I like you Bucky. You seem like a really good guy,” Steve says finally.

That’s… _good_ , thinks Bucky. But not what he asked.

“I like you too, Steve.”

Steve softens perceptibly and smiles.

“I don’t date much. Maybe that’s obvious,” says Steve, muttering the second bit, “There are plenty of reasons I don’t. Some of them…might be time to reconsider. But that still wouldn’t put me in a position to date _casually_.”

And, okay, Bucky has already received a version of this lecture from Becca. Except Steve wouldn’t know the sordid details of Bucky’s romantic history, so something in him must radiate ‘emotionally stunted man-whore’ on its own. Perfect.

“It doesn’t have to be casual,” says Bucky, aiming for earnest, but it comes out pleading.

“You’ll go back to L.A.” replies Steve simply, “Right? At some point you’ll have to go back.”

Bucky sighs. _Oh_. That. It’s a surprising thing to have slipped his mind, except for all the ways he’s been actively repressing thinking about it. The domesticity of constant child-wrangling and apartment cleaning and holiday pageant decorating has Bucky frequently losing sight of the fact that this isn’t his home. This isn’t his life. He expected to miss more than the weather. But every time his agent leaves a message or the super forwards a bundle of his mail it feels like an intrusion.

As blissful as sleeping past sunrise on a non fold-out mattress can be, and as thrilling as jumping through sugar glass on a sound stage is, he hasn’t been needed like this in a long time. Not since he was half-way around the world with an M24 pressed up against his shoulder. Only this time there’s no blood in the sand, just never-ending laundry and immeasurable love.

But Steve is right. Nothing about his current arrangement is intended to be permanent. At some point he’ll have to go back.

“It’s alright,” Steve continues after Bucky’s telling silence, “I thought about it a lot. I was disappointed and looking for excuses why we wouldn’t have worked out, and well, that one’s pretty valid. I like you Buck, but I’m not sure I can let this turn into more if I already know how it ends.”

“Yeah,” is all Bucky says, his disappointment mirroring Steve’s. Figures he’d overlook something as foundational as _the future_ in scouting out a potential relationship. It’s never been something he’s thought to consider up front.

He’s interrupted from sinking any further into his mortification by two-tiny arms encircling his thigh. He looks down and immediately panics.

“Phoebe? What’s going on?!”

“Uncle Bucky!” she croons happily. Phoebe’s two, so Bucky gets climbed on instead of an explanation. Finally, he spots Becca coming through the double doors, Gigi trailing by the hand behind her. Becca looks like she’s been crying. Bucky scoops up the toddler and bolts over.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” asks Bucky as soon as he’s close enough to keep his voice down.

Becca gives him a watery smile and throws her arms around him and Phoebe both. He staggers, confused, but holds onto her with his free arm.

“He signed the papers,” Becca whispers in his ear, “It’s over. He settled.”

Bucky pulls back to look her in the eye to make sure he’s understanding this right. New tears are trailing down to her chin, but she’s smiling.

“No court?” asks Bucky.

“No court,” she confirms. “He agreed to everything, Bucky. Custody, alimony, all of it.”

Bucky exhales sharply. It’s been crushing her, this divorce. Becca borrowed money for the good lawyers just to get it over with. They’d drafted up something meticulously fair and reasonable just to settle as soon as possible and Rob had fought her every step of the way. Once Becca made one concession, he’d ask for another. Bucky has never thought of his sister as anything short of unbreakable, but he knows it’s been a near thing in recent months. He’s dizzy with relief.

“What changed?” asks Bucky.

Becca sighs, pulling Phoebe from his arms and setting her gently back on the ground. She leans in close to Bucky’s ear,

“She’s pregnant. The girl— _woman_ , whatever—he’s living with. She’s pregnant,” Becca whispers, then takes a step back and shrugs, “He’s starting over, I guess.”

Bucky’s quick to bite his tongue. Short of burning in effigy, he’s long since run out of creative ways to wish harm to former brother-in-law, and none of the old stand-bys are suitable to repeat near young ears.

“Is everything okay?” asks a concerned voice from behind.

Fuck, Bucky managed to make things weird with Steve then bail _again_.

“Steve!” greets Becca, not bothering to wipe away her tears, “Everything’s fine. Good, even. I’m divorced!” She wiggles her fingers like it’s a big reveal.

“Oh. Oh _wow_ ,” says Steve, moving in to hug her, “And you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s finally over,” she tells him breathlessly, like she still can’t quite believe it herself.

Having expected news of an emergency that’s non-existent, Bucky’s adrenaline fades enough to take note of how appalling the other adults in the room are at pretending to mind their own business. His hackles rise instinctively.

“Hey, Becks, I’m about done here. You want to head home?” asks Bucky, unsubtle, as she and Steve part.

“Actually, I was thinking we could go out to eat tonight. To celebrate? Sort of how we talked about?” The celebratory fantasy they had talked about included dropping the kids off with Mom and Dad and drinking margaritas in Cancún for a week. And frankly, Becca looks wrecked—like a 1000-pound weight has been lifted from her shoulders—but still wrecked. Also, bringing all four kids to any restaurant that doesn’t serve fast food and contain a built-in jungle gym sounds less than practical. But Christ, when’s the last time Becca had expressed a desire to celebrate _anything_.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want tonight,” Bucky agrees fondly.

“Steve, wanna join us?” asks Becca, turning to the man in question.

Bucky freezes. Shit. _This_ kind of thing is specifically why she’d warned Bucky not to make it weird.

Bucky steals a glance at Steve, who’s looking back with a raised brow. Bucky gives a furtive nod to whatever question is in Steve’s eyes, knowing this little unspoken interaction is not going to slide under his sister's radar.

“Edie’s here,” says Steve, pointing to the kid with the cocoa carafe, “Ok to add another munchkin?”

“Of course! The girls will be thrilled,” answers Becca.

She turns on Bucky as soon as Steve moves to fetch his daughter.

“What happened?” she asks suspiciously.

“He asked me out, I said no. I asked him out, he said no,” Bucky replies quick and quiet, “You showed up, now we’re all going to dinner, and it’s going to be fun. I mean it, Becks. I’m happy for you, and nothing else matters right now.”

Becca rolls her eyes, but lets it lie. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief detour to Steve's POV next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

“So, let me get this straight,” says Sam, swallowing his beer, “He’s an Army vet. With a dope ass civilian job that pays enough for him to fuck off to Brooklyn for a few months at a time. He’s good to his family. Likes kids. He’s jacked _and_ pretty—”

Steve sighs, leaning his head back against the sofa. He’s bone-tired after a full day of watching other people cook, but the house is finally cleaned up and quiet, and Sam has _questions_.

“But you can’t date him, because—wait, _why_ can’t you date him?”

“It can’t go anywhere, Sam. He lives in L.A.,” says Steve, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

“It can’t go anywhere? It can definitely go _somewhere_. You mean you can’t march him down to city hall and make him the other Mr. Rogers before New Year’s. You got commitment issues, man. Just not the kind everybody else has.”

“I don’t want to _marry_ him,” says Steve defensively, having learned his lesson about rushing to the alter the hard way, thank you very much. “I’ve got Edie to think about.”

“Man, that kid is golden. She’s good. You finally gettin’ some is not gonna mess that up.”

Steve worries about her because it’s his biological imperative to, but Sam is right. Between him and Peggy, Edie’s inherited enough stubborn self-sufficiency to survive Steve’s amateur attempts at dating. Steve’s the one struggling to adjust to his daughter’s newfound independence—not that he isn’t brimful with pride most days—it’s just, 9-year-olds can dress themselves, feed themselves, and apparently start their own small businesses (the hot cocoa windfall couldn’t even fit in the piggy bank.) Steve has a lot more free time than he used to. And he’s lonely. He can admit that much. Has been for a while, and he’s running out of reasons to stay that way.

But Sam’s also right about Steve wanting too much, too soon. Steve won’t deny the appeal of ‘gettin’ some,’ but sex is only a fraction of what’s missing from his life, and he’s never been much good at doing things by halves.

“He turned me down, Sam. I turned _him_ down. It’s already too complicated,” Steve tries to explain through his beer tinged exhaustion. 

“You said dinner went well,” counters Sam.

Becca’s post-divorce dinner had been absolute chaos. They practically took up the whole pizza joint together, and the kids had to be bribed with promises of dessert to speak at non banshee volumes. Edie asked Bucky wildly invasive questions about his arm most of the meal while Becca cried off and on.

Bucky and Steve were able to exchange a few reassuring glances— _see, not awkward_ —and it mostly wasn’t, until Becca noticed them looking and started dropping flattering tidbits about Bucky’s life unsubtly into the conversation. As if Steve needed convincing. Bucky squirmed adorably, but the adoration was obviously genuine and well-earned.

Despite the chaos, or maybe because of it, it was the best evening out Steve’s had in ages. He wants more like it—crowded tables and stolen glances and _family_.

“Yeah, dinner went well,” Steve says finally, feeling a little guilty yearning for family when he’s sitting in Sam’s living room for the fourth Thanksgiving in a row. Sam _is_ family. But Sam also _has_ a family. His sister and momma and Riley and Riley’s brothers and momma…his own sweet little pack of chaos Steve can’t help but envy, even as they welcome him and Edie as their own year after year.

“When’s the last time we stayed up late and talked about boys over a couple of drinks?” muses Sam.

Steve blinks, “Uh, never?”

“Exactly. If you’re hot and bothered enough to wax poetic about this dude’s ocean eyes on my sofa—”

“I didn’t say anything about the ocean, Jesus,” sputters Steve.

“Whatever—you like him. That’s a big deal. Ain’t like every single one of your friends and even your _ex-wife_ been trying to set you up for, like, years.”

Steve shudders at the memories. Peggy passing along the number of an adult niece who’d recently moved to the city had been a particularly low point in his post-divorce dating life.

“Happily-ever-after doesn’t just show up,” Sam says sternly, “You gotta start small.”

It’s annoying how Sam is capable of making sense this many drinks in. The problem isn’t that Steve isn't willing to start small (he’d asked Bucky out first _,_ after all) but that he knows his feelings won’t stay that way. He can’t imagine how they could if half the things Becca says about her brother turn out to be true. That’s a hell of a thing to risk for a man who won’t be sticking around for the _ever-after_ part.

*******

Steve’s a little surprised they haven’t installed a red carpet for pageant night yet. You’d think the Met Ball had come to Bed-Stuy the way parents groom and preen over their costumed child before releasing them at the drop-off point. Peggy had taken lead on the gingerbread dress—which meant purchased over the internet—and Edie looks adorable, but damn if Pinterest hasn’t turned half these parents into savage DIYers.

Edie marches off with Becca’s oldest wearing an identical store-bought dress. Becca and Bucky are nearby sending the younger girls on their way, and Steve considers whether or not it's wise to approach.

“Is that the new beau?” whispers Peggy, following his line of sight.

As modern co-parents, he and Peggy are valiantly committed to remaining warm and civil with each other, but their current relationship stops short of Steve discussing his love life with her. Unfortunately, it hasn’t stopped _Sam_ from discussing it with her.

“Not my beau,” says Steve, and damn if he doesn’t sound disappointed about it.

“Quite the specimen. You always did have an eye for beauty,” Peggy teases fondly.

Steve makes up his mind to head over, if only to avoid any additional commentary for the time being.

Becca looks good, happier than Steve can remember since she’s been sitting next to him at the divorced table. Bucky’s foregone his usual laid-back L.A. garb for a navy peacoat with a vaguely military fit that suits him all too well. Little Phoebe, refusing to be left out of the evening’s festivities is donning her own pair of reindeer antlers.

Bucky greets Steve with a smile, while Becca’s mid-rant about the elaborate homemade costumes making her feel like a slacker. Steve is inclined to agree, but thinks guiltily about the amount of work he’s put into his backdrops over the years. He feels better knowing it’s truly a passion project on his end, not a competitive parenting flex. Except that one time he put on a showcase for Bucky in the basement and it kinda was. Christ.

They hustle their way to the auditorium—seats fill up fast—and Steve spots Peggy waving them over, having blocked off part of a row closest to the exit.

“That’s, uh…” Bucky trails off, eyes wide in Peggy’s direction.

“Edie’s mom? Yeah,” says Steve, his tone carefully neutral.

“She won’t mind if we join you?” asks Becca, looking nervously at her brother. Bucky hasn’t looked away.

“Believe me, she’ll mind if you don’t,” says Steve. Peggy is nothing if not deliberate.

But Bucky is still mostly frozen next to Steve, like he’s finally considering whether it’s time to bail on all this nonsense.

Steve reacts before he can stop himself, his hand landing low on Bucky’s back in a gesture that’d be hard to mistake as platonic. He’s sure Peggy and Becca won’t.

“Sit by me? Please?” Steve whispers low in Bucky’s ear. Beneath the thick fabric of his coat, Steve feels Bucky relax a fraction, pushing some of his weight back into Steve’s hand.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky says softly, a little sheepish.

“Funny, she said the same about you,” admits Steve. Bucky’s brows dive together at that revelation. “Peggy’s feeling impish, not territorial. I promise I wouldn’t subject you to that.”

Steve doesn’t remove his hand as he leads Bucky to their seats, pointedly ignoring Peggy's victorious smirk.

The fold-up chairs are not constructed for men their size, and Steve can feel the warmth radiating up his side from where Bucky is pressed close. It’s a stark contrast to the chilled air sweeping through the room as the crowd files in through open doors, and it’s making Steve lightheaded. He’s not doing a very good job of suppressing the want bubbling up inside him. The repercussions from letting himself have this, have _Bucky_ , seem trivial with Bucky’s heat, Bucky’s cologne, Bucky’s stupid hot military peacoat overwhelming his senses.

The holiday bustle and liberal use of twinkle lights make for an unexpectedly romantic ambiance, and it could almost pass for the date they keep denying each other if it weren’t for the peculiar additions of his ex-wife and Bucky’s sister on either side of them.

Feeling reckless, and a little sappy, Steve stretches out his pinky finger to meet the sleeve of Bucky’s coat, careful to keep the movement hidden from their chaperones. Steve is taut with anticipation for a full minute before it dawns on him that he’s stroking Bucky’s prosthetic. Grateful that Bucky didn’t notice _that_ mistake, Steve only pauses a second before reaching out again, this time lower. He slides his finger slowly up the side of Bucky’s thigh underneath where the prosthetic rests. Steve stops before he arrives anywhere too dangerous.

Bucky looks down to inspect the sensation before turning infinitesimally toward Steve, his expression unreadable. Whatever he sees on Steve’s face must decide something, and Bucky’s eyes go soft and pleased. His leg shifts closer to Steve, who takes it as an invitation to place his whole hand right there under Bucky’s.

To their right, Steve hears Becca try to stifle a squeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written fiction in so long, y'all. I know I'm rusty, but thanks for bearing with me.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve Rogers, it turns out, is a bit of a wildcard.

Because last Bucky checked, they weren’t pursuing this thing between them for reasons that were, unfortunately, reasonable. And yet, here Steve is feeling him up in a school auditorium.

Steve’s hand around his thigh is hardly pushing the limits of public decency—it’s the sort of casually affectionate touch that Bucky wouldn’t think twice about between any other couple. Except Bucky’s pretty sure they’re not a couple—at least they weren’t a few minutes ago—but Steve keeps touching him like they are and Bucky’s way too eager to embrace the implications.

It’s easy to pretend, given their surroundings, that the implications are significant. That Bucky is someone important to Steve for him to reach out like this, now. In front of his ex-wife, Becca, and the watchful eyes of busybody PTA moms. 

Bucky thinks it’s just as likely Steve is an impulsive son-of-a-bitch, and heartbreak is still a looming inevitability for both of them unless Bucky makes some dramatic life changes.

And God, he is having a harder and harder time not chasing that train of thought. He’s been putting off booking a return flight like it’s some kind of dreaded dental procedure. Becca teared up the first time Bucky mentioned helping her hire a nanny, and he’s been too scared to approach the topic of leaving since. Bucky’s careful not to factor Steve into the equation—because, honestly, there’s been nothing to consider beyond his own wishful thinking. But as leaving Brooklyn becomes inevitable, Bucky can’t pretend not to be definitively bummed about it.

Shit, he’s supposed to be filming Gigi twirl around to that dreidel song.

The the much-hyped holiday pageant turns out to be a delightful distraction from his mini existential crisis. The over-the-top parent contributions contrast hilariously with the anarchy happening on stage. Every grade has a few loose cannons—kids who steal the show or refuse to participate entirely. One kid loses a shoe during a kick-line, and the others are so encouraged by the audience’s laughter they start intentionally hurling shoes into the crowd. It’s a charming sort of mayhem.

Steve only removes his hand for the time it takes to film his daughter, and Bucky’s embarrassingly relieved when Steve reaches for him again. Bucky knows these feelings are dangerous without a clue where this is going, and all the more dangerous because he’s not sure he cares.

He feels all warm and gooey inside like a half-baked cookie. It’d be disgusting if it weren’t so sweet. It’s not just Steve he’s sweet on either. Bucky’s been dopey with sentiment ever since he came home, and the holidays have only amplified the effect. Becca’s fierce determination and the miraculous resiliency of his nieces have him fit to combust with love and pride. Rikki’s an honest to god adult now, working so hard to make herself a place in the world. Bucky would take bullets, rob banks, commit atrocities for those girls.

He’s not sure he can be this version of himself back in L.A. He was happy before, he’s sure of it, but there’s no denying how dulled some of his emotions had become. When Steve touches him now, Bucky feels the familiar knife’s edge of desire, but there’s something else there too. That strange new sweetness, making him feel soft and raw from the inside out.

The pageant ends ridiculously late by grade-school standards. Peggy—who Bucky barely has the capacity to obsess over at this time—was wise to choose seats by the door. The crowd is in a desperate rush to whisk their overstimulated children off to bed.

Steve doesn’t keep his hold on Bucky once they leave their seats, but stays close as they move with the masses to collect children. Regretfully, Bucky’s volunteer duties include the evening’s clean-up, so once he rounds up the girls he sends Becca home to brave bedtime solo.

“Take it easy on your ma tonight, girls. If any one of you is still up by the time I get home, no piggyback rides for a _week_ ,” he warns. Piggyback rides have proven to be a valuable currency now that they’re out of Halloween candy.

“G’night, Bucky,” says Becca, but when she leans in for a hug adds, “I think that janitor’s closet next to the water fountain probably has a lock on it.”

Bucky raises a brow in question.

“You know, if you need a little privacy,” she says, pointing at Steve.

Bucky bats her hand down, “What's wrong with you?”

“ _Please_ , like you two didn’t just make it to second base in the middle of a packed theater. Think of how far you could get without an audience.”

“Oh my god, stop. Go home.” Bucky pleads.

She leads the girls out with a teasing grin.

Bucky catches a glimpse of Steve saying goodnight to Peggy and Edie. He tries not to study the moment too closely, but Steve’s already groped him in front of his sister, and this moment hardly seems more private. Bucky’s only curious. Peggy’s like something out of an old pin-up magazine, and of course someone once married to Steve would be beautiful, but there’s another intriguing element there as well. Something a little dangerous, just under the surface. Bucky wonders if that’s a part of why Steve married her or part of why they split.

“Hey,” says Steve as he approaches, looking particularly aw-shucks with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Hey,” is all Bucky can think to reply. Steve’s probably going to tell him he’s come to his senses. Or worse, apologize.

“Sorry—”

“No, please,” Bucky groans, “Please don’t be sorry,”

“I’m not,” Steve holds up his hands, “At least not—not for tonight. I’m only sorry for all the back and forth. For turning you down and then treating this like a date anyway. For saying I don’t want this when clearly, I do.”

God, they’re such a mess, circling around each other like this. Despite the evening’s progress, Bucky still has more questions than answers. If he wants to encourage whatever this is, he needs to be as direct as Steve.

“What is it, _specifically_ , that you want?” Bucky asks carefully.

The sudden intensity in Steve’s expression is almost unbearable. Bucky doesn’t look away.

“Would it help if I promised to say yes?” adds Bucky lightly.

Steve breaks into a smile, albeit a strained one “You can’t promise that.”

“Try me.”

Steve says nothing for a moment, then reaches for Bucky’s hand, pulling him down the hall through a thinning crowd. Bucky absolutely does not spare a glance at the janitor’s closet as they pass. They turn the corner into a dark, empty hallway and Steve is suddenly very, very close.

The kiss is over as soon as it starts, just a firm press of lips and Bucky’s surprised exhale. Steve doesn’t step away when he’s done, letting his hand slide from Bucky’s jaw down to the skin under the collar of his coat.

Bucky is supposed to do something now, probably. Besides stare helplessly into Steve’s eyes, dangerously close to having a swoon.

“What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” asks Steve, his thumb stroking idly.

“I have no idea,” Bucky admits.

“Come over.”

“Like, to where you live?”

“Yeah, to my apartment. Peggy’s got Edie that night, so we could go out if you really want, but I gotta be honest, I wouldn’t know where to go. It’s been years since I’ve had a date on New Year's.”

Bucky wonders if Steve fully understands the implications of his invitation. Or the implications of possessive touches at family events, or stolen kisses in dark hallways. For all of Steve’s apparent impulsiveness this evening, the intimacy of it all strikes Bucky as breathtakingly deliberate.

“Yes. You're apartment. Okay.” Bucky answers easily.

Before Steve’s smile can dazzle Bucky into another spell of helplessness, he reaches up for one more kiss. Without adequate privacy to protect them from scandal, Bucky makes an effort to keep it chaste. He lets his hands wander a bit though, because Steve’s proven himself to be the tactile sort and because Bucky’s been admiring the firm plane of Steve’s chest since he first saw the man. Even through the thick knit of Steve’s sweater, it doesn’t disappoint.

“I’ll text you the address,” says Steve, pulling away. His voice has dropped at least an octave since he last spoke, and it sends a victorious little shiver down Bucky’s spine.

“You have my number?”

Steve snorts, “Yeah, Becca gave it to me a while back.”

Of course. Fortunately, Bucky’s still kiss drunk enough to not be annoyed.

“I guess we should…” _get out of the dark hallway before we do something to get us banned from the premises?_ Bucky thinks.

“Go help clean-up?”

Bucky nods, taking one last lingering look at Steve before straightening out his coat and schooling his expression into something a little less lovesick.

“I know it wasn't a date, but I had a good time tonight. Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“You too, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sexy times in a school, sorry. But next chapter will bump up the rating, so if that's not your thing be warned!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, folks! This chapter is over twice as long as the rest, for what it's worth.  
> Please note chapter count and rating have changed.
> 
> CW: alcohol / sexy times

The entire Barnes clan crowded around the faux fireplace in Becca’s living room is probably a building code violation.

It would make more sense for them all to fly out to Indiana, where Bucky’s parents are somewhat inexplicably living out their retirement on a quaint little hobby farm. Cornfields creep the hell out of Bucky but at least they have the square footage to accommodate everybody. Instead Bucky’s parents and his sister Jackie, who is finishing up her PhD in Bloomington, fly to New York every Christmas. They've supposedly rented out a nearby Airbnb, but every waking moment has been spent in Becca’s crowded space.

Bucky suspects the truth is he’s not the only Barnes who struggles to stay away from Brooklyn for long. George and Winnie scoff at rising rents and complain about the hipster bars replacing all their old watering holes, but never miss an opportunity to walk the entire family by their former building on Quincy Street to reminisce over whatever memories will shock and delight their granddaughters the most.

The floor in Becca’s apartment has been covered by shiny ribbon and wrapping paper since sunrise. Surely there’s a way to do Christmas morning that doesn’t resemble the aftermath of a natural disaster, but their family has never managed anything less. Bucky steps away to brew the morning’s third pot of coffee in an attempt to chemically induce a fraction of the energy his nieces have been vibrating with since 5am.

“Your hair is getting so long,” his mother says, following him to the kitchen. She’s frowning.

“Don’t worry, I gotta cut it for work soon.”

“It looks alright,” she shrugs. Bucky snorts at that. His ma’s favorite picture of him is in his dress greens the day he received his Sergeant promotion. She and the US Army have similar ideas about grooming standards.

“You did a good thing here, kid,” she says, suddenly quiet and serious.

“Nothing Becks wouldn’t do for me. Nothing she _hasn’t_ done for me.”

“I know it. But I’m proud of you. Both of you.”

“Thanks, Ma.”

“You’re taking care of yourself too?”

“Of course,” says Bucky, adding a generous splash of Bailey’s to his coffee to make the point.

She rolls her eyes, as though boozy coffee somehow _isn’t_ the epitome of self-care. “You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

“I already got a therapist, Ma,” he reminds her. And a mug with that same motivational phrase on it she’d given him a Christmas prior.

“What about a boyfriend?”

“Pretty sure Becca filled you in.” Bucky had allowed the gossip as a courtesy. He couldn’t blame his sister for wanting to deflect from her own drama this year.

“Well, he better deserve you.”

“I’ll have a better idea of who deserves what once we actually go out, Ma. It’s just a first date.”

“That’s how these things start, kiddo. If he’s all Becca says he is, give it a chance. You’re a catch, you hear me? You’re worth a lot more than just a first date.”

“I’ll tell him I come highly recommended by my mother, okay? I’m sure that’ll seal the deal.”

She bats him painlessly in the arm, “I just want you to be happy.”

“I know you do. I want that too.” He means it.

*******

There’s an unfamiliar weight to Bucky’s nerves tonight. He’s been on enough first dates to navigate the jitters well enough, but this goes deeper. Like there is more at stake than just whether or not he gets off.

But date prep is more or less the same even when your entire future feels like it’s hanging in the balance. He showers, shaves for the first time since Christmas, and slides a couple of condoms into his wallet for good measure. He’s a little overdressed for a night in—and hopefully at some point, undressing—but Bucky intends to convey how seriously he’s approaching this relationship whatever way he can. He tops off his best gray sweater with the peacoat, which had worked so well on Steve last time. It’s a satisfyingly New York look, and the first time he’s been suitable for public in a week.

The girls swarm when he emerges looking 'fancy.' Any attempts to distract them prove immediately futile as they demand to know _why_ and _where_ and _who with_ Bucky is going. Without much practice at imposing boundaries, and Becca making no effort to save him, Bucky bails. A full hour and half early.

Steve lives barely a mile from Becca, there’s no way the walk will take him more than 20 minutes and it’s too fucking cold to meander. The streets are crowded, loud and more frenzied than usual with everyone on their way to celebrate somewhere. Bucky ducks into the liquor store at the end of the block to kill time, and leisurely browses through the thoroughly picked over champagne. There’s not a single bottle left under $80, but it would be nice not to show up empty handed. He picks up the cheapest bottle left and hopes Steve isn’t enough of an aficionado to discern the obscene price tag.

He makes it to Steve’s building with half an hour to spare, and a handful of seconds later, to his horror, Steve rounds the corner. He looks huge in one of those puffy jackets Bucky’s been avoiding, his face pink from the cold.

“Bucky?”

“Shit! Sorry. I’m so early.” Steve hadn’t even been home yet. Christ, he probably thinks Bucky is a stalker. Or at the very least, a huge dork.

“It’s okay. I was just dropping off Edie.”

“I can take a walk around the block, come back later. Give you some time—”

“It’s freezing, don’t worry about it. C’mon up.”

Steve holds the door open with a smile and Bucky follows, letting the warmth distract him from his embarrassing breech of date etiquette. Steve leads him up to the third floor.

“Sorry about the mess. Meant to clean up a bit,” says Steve, unlocking the door. His apartment is a decent size by Brooklyn standards, helped by an open floor plan and sensibly sparse decor. Bucky doesn’t see anything that constitutes a mess, just a few signs of life like the open book on the couch and a glass of water by the sink.

“Please don’t apologize, Steve. I shouldn’t even be here yet.”

“I’m glad you are. Been looking forward to tonight all week,” says Steve, taking Bucky’s coat. His sincerity might just kill Bucky somehow. His defenses don't stand a chance.

“I, um, brought champagne,” says Bucky holding up the bottle, “We don’t have to open it if that’s not your thing.”

“It’s New Years Eve, of course we’ll open it. Thanks, Buck.” Steve calls him _Buck._ Like they’ve known each other their whole lives.

Bucky sets the bottle on the kitchen counter. He’s overdressed compared to Steve, who’s blessedly skipped the khakis in lieu of some well-loved looking jeans and a soft blue sweater. Bucky will have to resist the urge to curl up in his lap like a house cat.

“Did you have a good Christmas?” he asks, while Steve rummages for glasses.

“Yeah. Pretty quiet. What about you?”

“Uh, not so quiet. But it was good to see my folks and my sisters all in one place.”

“I bet. Think these’ll work?” asks Steve, holding up two whiskey tumblers, “Best I can do.”

“That’s perfect,” answers Bucky, trying to gauge whether or not he knows how to open a bottle of champagne with any kind of skill or grace. He does not. He licks the overflow from the side of the bottle before he can think better of it, before he remembers Steve doesn’t know how much each precious ounce _cost_ and might think this is somehow intended to titillate. Fortunately, Bucky’s complexion hides a blush better than Steve’s does.

Bucky pours them both a glass, wondering if he’s just rusty from a few months off the dating scene or if there’s something about Steve specifically that throws him off his game.

“Should we toast to the New Year?” asks Steve, plucking one of the glasses from Bucky’s hand.

“Don’t we have to wait until midnight?”

Steve shakes his head, “No, that’s kissing.”

“We have to wait until midnight to kiss?” Bucky whines, genuinely distressed.

“Definitely not,” chuckles Steve, “But we should toast now, so we can kiss later. I don’t think there’s actually a limit on how many times we get to do either.”

“Cheers to that,” says Bucky, raising his glass. Unlimited kissing sounds more than satisfactory.

“Cheers,” says Steve, eyes widening when he takes a sip, “This is very good champagne.”

Bucky shrugs, but Steve is right. It tastes like money.

“So, uh, any New Year’s resolutions?” asks Steve.

Bucky has never in his life made a resolution aside from _don’t die_ the few years doing so felt like a real achievement. But he supposes he is planning some life changes, and now’s as good of a time as any to let Steve know…in case he finds them...relevant.

“I want to spend more time at home.”

Steve nods thoughtfully, clearly _not_ getting it. Bucky sees the kicked-puppy face forming.

“ _Brooklyn_ is home, Steve. I’m selling my place in L.A.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I mean, my next big job is filming in Georgia. My last job was shot in Toronto. There’s a bit of preproduction work that usually happens in L.A., but sometimes it happens on set or in New York even. Hollywood is wherever the tax breaks are these days. If I’m always having to travel for work anyway it doesn’t make sense to spend all that time in between away from my family. Becca shouldn’t have to raise four kids on her own. She’s so strong, and I love those girls, but it’s too fucking much for one person. So I’m gonna be around more. As much as I can be.”

Bucky’s not sure he's explaining this well through his rambling, given the confused expression that has replaced the kicked puppy one.

“Steve, I’m moving to Brooklyn. I gotta go back to L.A. to meet a realtor and pack my stuff and get started on this new movie. And I’ll be in Atlanta for most of February, probably. But when I’m not working, I’ll be here. Ideally not on Becca’s pull-out. I’m gonna get my own place. Just wanted to let you know, in case, you know, you ever want to see me again after tonight.”

And maybe that’s wildly presumptuous. Maybe the recent wearing of hearts on sleeves was because this could never go anywhere. Maybe hearing your one-night stand announce they’re moving across the country to be _closer_ is enough for a guy like Steve to come to his senses. Maybe—

Steve kisses him. It’s quick and chaste and complete surprise just like last time.

“That’s a good resolution, Buck.” Steve's smiling so big, Bucky can't help but mirror his expression.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was gonna start doing Meatless Mondays myself.”

“Oh? I know a good quinoa taco recipe.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to try that sometime.”

Bucky giggles. He’s twenty minutes into a first date that wasn’t even scheduled to begin yet, and somehow he’s progressed farther in this relationship than he has with any man in the last ten years.

Bucky wants to kiss Steve. He wants to kiss Steve as easily as Steve kisses him, and then keep kissing him as many times as allowed before midnight.

But Steve, it turns out, has an actual date planned. A full buffet of Trader Joe’s hors d’oeuvres and a movie queued up. There’s four whole hours until midnight, so it’s probably impractical to spend the entire time fooling around anyway. Fortunately, Bucky’s seen _The Godfather II_ enough to be able to recite it line for line, so once they’re settled on the sofa with the movie playing, Bucky lets his attention to wander. To the framed oil portrait of a fair, fragile looking woman with _S. Rogers_ scribbled in the corner. To the small, eclectic vinyl collection stacked next to what’s got to be an absolutely ancient phonograph. To the photo on the refrigerator door of a much younger Steve in tactical gear surrounded by smiling soldiers.

Mostly Bucky watches Steve, letting desire and anticipation build into something nearly overwhelming. He doesn’t hide it when Steve steals a brief glance his way. By the time the credits roll, the tension between them is divinely thick, and Bucky’s had just enough champagne to make a move—but Steve is cursing in frustration at the remote for taking him to a wrong menu and pointedly not looking at Bucky.

Steve’s _nervous_. He’s bulldozed through every wall Bucky’s put up, and taken lead on every escalation in their relationship so far, but now that things are poised to get a little hot and heavy, he’s second guessing himself. It’s kind of cute but also _unacceptable_.

“Steve,” Bucky calls gently. When he doesn’t turn, Bucky uses his socked foot to nudge Steve’s leg on the other side of the sofa, “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah,” says Steve, placing a hand over Bucky’s foot. He’s still not looking up.

“You know, we can just…turn the TV back on? Watch the ball drop and call it a night. If you want.”

“That’s not really—I mean, that would be fine? But. That’s not what I had planned for tonight.”

“What’d you have planned?” Bucky asks carefully.

Steve starts to open his mouth a few times, then groans, and flops his head back on the cushion.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” he says, finally.

“Been…with a guy?” tries Bucky. Which frankly, would not be surprising. The khakis and ex-wife would suggest Steve’s nowhere near as high on the Kinsey scale as him.

“Well, yeah. But, anybody really. Anybody I cared about,” Steve admits.

Oh. Bucky ruminates on that for a bit.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anybody I care about, too” replies Bucky eventually, because it’s the truth.

At that, Steve makes eye contact, his expression difficult to discern. Bucky scoots closer slowly, as though the other man might spook, but Steve slides the hand on Bucky’s foot up to his knee when Bucky settles beside him.

“Can I kiss you?” asks Bucky, so quiet it’s nearly a whisper.

Steve nods, breaking into a sweet smile, and Bucky is quick to take him up on it. His body hovers over Steve’s as their mouths meet, just a hand on Steve’s shoulder to steady himself, but then Steve opens his mouth and Bucky melts. He hesitates for half a second before swinging his leg over Steve’s lap to relieve them both of the awkward angle and licks as deep into Steve’s mouth as he can without chipping a tooth.

“We—we have time now, Steve,” pants Bucky, breaking away before he loses rational thought completely, “If you don’t want to rush.”

Steve’s hands have migrated to Bucky’s hips now, and Bucky knows if either of them move a fraction of an inch closer their groins are going to be flush against one each other.

“Are we rushing?” asks Steve, equally out of breath, “Dunno, just feels sort of…inevitable.”

_Inevitable_. Bucky’s happy to roll along with that thought. He relaxes his legs a fraction so that his half-hard cock presses down against where Steve’s must be, but they are wearing far too many layers of clothing for the sensation to be truly satisfying. That, at least, is easily rectified. Bucky slides down to the floor, intending to strip Steve of his socks first—because even someone as beautiful as Steve is going to look a little silly naked with their socks on—but the way Steve’s eyes go dark has Bucky aware of what else the position might suggest. And Bucky’s nothing if not adaptable.

He leaves Steve’s socks where they are and reaches for the fly of his jeans instead. Steve gives a consenting nod before Bucky pulls down on the zip and runs his thumb along the growing bulge beneath. To give himself some room to work, he shoves Steve’s jeans and underwear down until they’re bunched past his hips, putting Steve’s fully erect cock on display. Bucky’s grateful for his experience at this sort of thing, because any other man might be intimidated by Steve’s size, but Bucky hasn’t had a gag reflex since that two week leave he spent in Amsterdam during his second tour.

“Hold on a sec,” says Bucky, standing unsteadily. Steve lets out a whine as Bucky retrieves the condoms from his wallet in his coat pocket.

“You mind?” asks Bucky, holding up one of the packets for Steve to see.

Language is beyond Steve apparently, and he simply gives a glassy eyed nod as Bucky kneels back down between his legs. Bucky strokes him a few times before rolling the condom on—pleased with the audible little gasps Steve can’t seem to contain.

Bucky likes giving head. He’s good at it. He could stay down here all night, work Steve until he’s a puddle of frayed nerves begging for release. But Steve is already tense as bowstring beneath him, and they’ll have time— _a future_ , Bucky reminds himself—to do everything together. Right now, Bucky just wants to make Steve feel good.

He places a kiss where the top of Steve’s thigh meets his groin, then swallows him down in one go.

Steve goes so still Bucky’s worried he’s stopped breathing. Bucky slides his mouth back slowly, not wanting to give the man a heart attack, and once he’s got just the tip resting heavy on his tongue he unfists Steve’s hand from the sofa and moves it to the back of his head. A noise—more animal than man—escapes Steve, and Bucky feels a gentle pressure guiding him back down.

Steve keeps him slow for the first bit. The heat in his mouth is impossibly hard. If not for the condom Bucky’s sure this would be over as soon as it began. Through the haze of his own arousal, Bucky tries to pay attention to what Steve likes: faster on the downstroke, swirl of tongue on the upstroke. Bucky’s going to be _so_ good for him, in time.

When Steve starts thrusting unconsciously into Bucky’s throat, finally picking up the pace, Bucky slides his flesh hand from Steve’s thigh up to the base of his cock, using his thumb to press gently at the soft patch of skin behind Steve’s balls.

Steve comes with a cry, pulsing into the condom. Bucky lets his mouth go slack as Steve rides out the aftershocks, petting the little bit of exposed skin available to him. When Steve’s grip on his hair finally loosens, Bucky lets Steve’s cock slip free and rests his head right there on Steve’s lap, basking in the second-hand afterglow, his own arousal something pleasant in the distance.

“Bucky?” rasps Steve.

“Mm?”

“C’mere.”

Bucky grins into the kiss that greets him when climbs back up onto Steve. He leaves enough room for Steve to remove and tie off the condom, before being pulled forward into another kiss, and another. Post-orgasm Steve is almost unbearably gentle, and Bucky’s reminded of wanting to curl up in his lap like a housecat. It wouldn’t be so bad ringing in the New Year that way, he thinks.

But between kisses Steve’s hands start wandering with a bit more intent, fingers dipping below Bucky’s waistband, and sliding up beneath his sweater to graze his abdominal muscles.

Bucky makes the decision to undress his top half himself. He prefers to lay out the ground rules right away himself rather than wait for the inevitable questions.

“I can’t take it off,” he says when Steve eyes where the prosthetic is attached at his shoulder, “Nothing hurts anymore, and I don’t mind if you touch, but I don’t have any sensation in the arm or most of the scar tissue.”

Steve gives an understanding nod and reaches for Bucky again. He doesn’t do anything trite or overly sentimental, just places a soft, closed mouth kiss low on Bucky’s neck bordering the edge of his scar then continues exploring Bucky’s body with his mouth and hands.

When those hands start kneading relentlessly into Bucky’s ass, Bucky’s arousal rises from a simmer to a boil. He ruts into Steve’s lap, the friction tortuously insufficient until Steve finally, _finally_ , reaches into Bucky’s fly, freeing his erection.

“Perfect, you’re perfect,” whispers Steve wrapping a hand around him. It’s a little dry, and the angle is off, but it’s enough. Steve leans forward to suck a nipple into mouth, and suddenly it’s more than enough.

“Steve, Steve,” Bucky is muttering. He’s pulling frantically on Steve’s sweater—his soft, blue, perfect sweater—trying to get it out of the way before he comes in streaks across Steve’s bare stomach.

Honest to god fireworks go off in the distance.

They look at each other, startled. Fireworks don’t always play well with ex-soldiers, but they both appear to be holding back laughter.

“We missed the countdown,” says Steve.

“We were busy. Besides, you’re supposed to ring in the New Year however you want to spend the rest of the year, right?” adds Bucky, pretty sure that’s a thing. Or hoping it is.

“Coming?” Steve snickers, “Or covered in come, in my case? Half-naked and tipsy?”

“Together,” offers Bucky, shrugging demurely, “I mean, the rest sounds okay, too.”

Steve’s expression sobers into something hopelessly tender.

“Together sounds real nice, Buck.”

Bucky kisses him, “Yeah, it does. Happy New Year, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Just an epilogue to go! Thanks for reading! Feel free to drop me a line if you enjoyed!


	7. Epilogue: 1 Year Later

“You guys are so late! I had to keep the Instagram moms from stealing the table!” hisses Becca in greeting. Bucky is doubtful—the lighting sucks back here—Becca just hates being at these things alone.

In fairness, PTA meetings are the only occasion they all get to see each other without a hoard of children to contend with. Their late arrival has seriously eaten into grown-up hang time.

“Sorry. Pit stop at the janitor’s closet,” Bucky winks. That gets an eyeroll from Steve and a full-on pinch from Becca, who never did learn how to fight any way but dirty.

“Our meeting with the realtor ran late,” offers Steve.

“Realtor?” asks Becca, alarmed, “You’re moving?”

Bucky sighs and Steve’s eyes goes wide as he realizes he’s let something slip. For the most part, Bucky finds it endearing how clumsily Steve navigates the Barnes family dynamics, except too often it results in Becca yelling at him

“Oh my god, are you?” she continues, getting louder.

“Shh! No!” Bucky placates, “Well, actually, yes. But not away. Just, you know, together.”

“You’re moving in together?!” Louder still.

“Jeeze, Becca, why don’t you go announce it at the podium?”

“You know, I should. Might make these moms stop thirsting so hard if they know you two are legit.”

Steve appears to genuinely consider this.

“No. No announcement,” Bucky says firmly, “I’ve got another month on my lease, and Steve has to give a 90-day notice at his place. Nothing’s happening right away.”

“So you were just gonna wait to tell me until I get your birthday card returned to sender?”

“Becca, I live three blocks away. You don’t send me anything in the mail.”

“We weren’t trying to hide anything, I promise,” adds Steve.

“Oh, I know _you_ weren’t,” Becca says pointedly.

“Becks, of course I was gonna tell you. You’ll be the first person we invite over. It’s just—once you know something, then Mom knows it too. And then mom tells Dad, and Jackie, and Aunt Rose, and her hairdresser, and it’ll end up in that goofy little newsletter she sends out with the Christmas cards.”

“She’s _proud_ of you, Bucky. We’re all proud of you. Not because you’re settling down like a normie, but because you’re happy. Let your family be happy for you.”

Steve is beaming, the bastard. Like nothing pleases him more than seeing Bucky squirm under his family’s relentless love and affection.

Bucky takes his hand when the meeting starts. Not to warn off the thirsty moms, or make any kind of point in front of his sister. But the rest of his life started here, a year ago in this florescent lit school cafeteria, and gratitude might just bowl him over if he doesn’t hang on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading y'all, and sorry for the wait on this last little bit.
> 
> This is my first fic, definitely not as polished as I'd like, so I got distracted starting 20 new fics instead...determined to *improve?* Such a slippery slope. But the horror of leaving a WIP out in the world finally caught up with me.
> 
> Stay safe out there folks! And if you'd like a non-WIP feat. these two check out my newest work [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519106)


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